His Dressing Gown

His multi coloured dressing gown resides in my cupboard
for a another chance to adorn his body, that firm back,
his manly stance and his naughty bottom bits.

I shrink back from it every now and then for it reminds me
of those tender moments; the way he shaved.
the way he dried his hair, the way he brushed it.

Sometimes when I'm cold I pull on the bloody thing and
it warms me through and I imagine the scent of him,
then I take it to bed and fall asleep in it.

When summer comes I hide it at the back of my
very deep wardrobe, like the inner corners of my mind
and try to forget,

but it won't stay hidden and knocks, tap, tap, tapping at the door
keeping my memories urgently alive and my mind
ever lingering on images.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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